Zane's Busy Bodies: Chocolate Flava 4

by Zane

  “Mmmmmm . . .” she moaned as she tilted her head back and held on to the back of his head. She had a feeling this was going to be the ride of her life. To her surprise, he kept a steady motion of slow, long strokes. Instead of speeding up and making him catch her pace, she decided to go with his once she thought about the point of climax.

  He grabbed her legs and placed them on his shoulders, allowing himself deeper access and more control. Faith did not oblige. In fact, she leaned in closer and let the pain become her pleasure as she kissed him again to intensify the feeling. Faith opened her eyes, not remembering when she had even closed them, to notice that she still had on her shoes. Oh, well, she thought. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling. Mr. Hall stood up with Faith sitting in the palms of his hands and decided to speed up his pace.

  This was new to Faith. She had done a lot of things but never had she met a man that could do this. She was in love with the moment. Once her moans got louder, Mr. Hall decided to withdraw and switch positions again. Faith knelt on her knees on the sleigh bench, facing the rear end of the carriage. He entered her wetness again, slow and hard, amusing himself with the moans and the head tilt that he had assumed was to come. Faith bent a slight arch in her back and Mr. Hall found her G-spot, which not many men had accomplished in her twelve years of lovemaking.

  Faith, who was thirty now, felt all her fantasies come to life as he gripped the back of her neck and guided her into the doggy-style position. This is it, she thought. What would make this particular climax so special was that neither of them had uttered a single word since they had begun, and neither of them would know when the other would break.

  While Mr. Hall was still behind Faith, he reached in front of her, unbuttoned her shirt, and unhooked her bra. While he pulled the shirt off, Faith allowed the bra to fall onto the sleigh bench. Mr. Hall bent forward and kissed the back of Faith’s neck as he rubbed and tweaked her nipples, hoping to make her climax before he did.

  Faith could not utter a single word, even if she tried. Her leg began to shake and, as it did, Mr. Hall flipped her over and sat her on the bench facing him. He bent down to his knees and spread her legs as wide as they would go. He buried his face in her soft place and entered two fingers inside Faith so that she could still get the full experience. Faith continued to rub her own breasts and tweak her own nipples while Mr. Hall drank her juices and came to his own climax using his other hand. He felt her vaginal walls contract before she exploded. Faith’s legs were still shaking when Mr. Hall stood up in front of her. She could barely move, until she heard the applause.

  “Oh, shit! Jabari!” she said, and jumped up to get her clothes on. Before Mr. Hall could get his pants on straight, Faith had her bra and shirt back on and was bending down to pick up her thong, which had been abandoned at the beginning of this little escapade. She tucked it into her purse, straightened her hair to the best of her ability, kissed Mr. Hall one more time, and exited the music room.

  She ran into one of the bathroom stalls on her way down the hall and cleaned herself up with the wipes that she never traveled without. She reapplied her lip gloss as she approached the auditorium. Jabari’s class was assembling on the stage once she got inside. There were a couple of empty seats now, so Faith found one at the back of the crowd.

  The fourth-graders began to sing “Silent Night” and Faith smiled and waved to her baby. He waved his hand quickly, embarrassed that some of the girls in his class would think that he was a momma’s boy. She giggled on the inside because she knew.

  Faith’s legs finally stopped shaking. She had no idea how she had managed to wobble all the way back from the music room, and she was just glad that there was a chair available. Faith could hear the kids singing but all she saw were the images in her head of that damned Mr. Hall. That dark chocolate skin, that shiny bald head, and that huge—

  “Is this seat taken?” she heard his voice behind her again. He didn’t wait for her to respond. Instead, he moved around the row of chairs and claimed the seat as his own.

  Faith looked straight ahead. For some reason, she was nervous. She was still in a relationship with the father of her child and she had no idea of Mr. Hall’s background. She had never done this before. It was wrong for him to allow her to do it. But it felt so right. Mr. Hall said nothing as he stood up and walked behind the row of chairs. He dropped a piece of paper into Faith’s lap and continued to walk. Faith attempted to open the piece of paper before she noticed it was a letter. She folded it back into the small square it was when it had been given to her and tucked it into her purse.

  Once the fourth-graders had finished all of their performance Jabari ran toward his mother and occupied the seat that Mr. Hall had first claimed.

  “Baby, you were great!” she said to Jabari. He smiled and looked toward the stage where the final act was about to begin.

  “Ma, I don’t wanna watch them. I’m hungry. Can we leave now?” Jabari asked, waiting for a response.

  “Sure, baby. Let’s go.” Faith and Jabari exited the auditorium and headed to their car.

  “Oh, I gotta use the bathroom.” He ran into one of the restrooms next to the water fountains.

  Faith couldn’t wait to read the letter that Mr. Hall had given her so she pulled it out of her purse while Jabari was in the restroom. It read:

  Dear Miss,

  You never gave me your name. I would enjoy seeing you again, since I see that you enjoyed me. I wanted you when I first laid eyes on you. Jabari was in the second grade, and the first day you came to pick him up, I wanted to say something to you, but I didn’t want you to feel disrespected. I’m glad that you made the first move. You ran out in such a hurry tonight. If you ever think about me again contact me.

  Alexander

  Mr. Hall’s phone number and e-mail address were written at the bottom of the page. God, if he only knew she probably would never stop thinking about him. She tucked the paper back in her purse and Jabari walked out of the restroom.

  “Where’s Daddy?” He looked at his mother.

  She didn’t know how to answer that. Hell, she couldn’t answer that.

  “He had to stay late for work tonight,” she lied.

  “Oh, I hate his job. He’s never home,” Jabari said with a frown.

  Faith thought about the music teacher again. “Well, did you have fun tonight?” she asked her son.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “Then that’s all that matters,” she said, and kissed him on his forehead.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you my teacher wanted to know if I could join his baseball team this year.”

  “Sure. I don’t see why not. That should be fun!” she told him.

  “Yes! I’ll tell Mr. Hall in the morning!” he exclaimed.

  “Who?” Faith asked to make sure she wasn’t hearing things.

  “Mr. Hall, my music teacher. He has a little league baseball team. He’s my favorite teacher! Now you finally get to meet him!” Jabari said with lots of excitement.

  Faith smirked and opened the car door for her son to climb inside. She had a feeling that she would be experiencing many more sleigh rides.

  Coosawhatchie

  Zane

  If you’ve ever driven down Interstate 95, to or from Florida, then you’ve passed Coosawhatchie, South Carolina. In fact, you’ve even driven over the Coosawhatchie River. Probably never noticed it, though. When I was a little girl, I used to sit by the banks of the river, watching the cars and trucks speed across the overpass, wishing that I could hitch a ride in just one of them. I never even gave a damn where they were headed. I yearned to escape the small town of 11,407 people residing in 4,164 households, according to the latest United States census.

  By now, you must realize that everyone in town has to know each other, definitely by face if not by name. Saying that nothing exciting ever happens in Coosawhatchie is an understatement. In fact, the last “newsworthy” event dates back to the Civil War when General Robert E. Lee
utilized our little slice of heaven as his headquarters as he sought to fortify the coastal defenses of South Carolina and Georgia. Yep, since 1862, life has been pretty dismal here. Unless you count the occasional bar fight in the one bar in town, or someone reporting a freshly baked apple pie being stolen off their screened-in porch.

  My name is Betsy Smith. Exotic and original name, don’t you think? I’m twenty-eight years old but I feel like I am living the life of an eighty-two-year-old woman. My mother is the town seamstress so I am her junior seamstress by default. There aren’t many jobs here and my old, rusty ’72 Ford pickup can’t make it far; especially not in the dead heat of summer.

  Summer. August to be exact. What I like to call “the long-suffering winds of August.” Nothing but dry heat, a ton of mosquitoes, and the scent from Robert Carlock’s moonshine still lingering in the air. No breeze, no rain, no mercy. Just heat.

  Last summer, around this time, things were a tad different for me. I had the most exciting experience of my entire life; at least to date. You see, up until then, my experience with humans of the male persuasion was rather limited. In Coosawhatchie, there are my cousins, cousins of my cousins on the other side, and cousins of their cousins of their cousins on yet another side. Outside of Perry Brown, the town stud because he is the only truly attractive man in town, pickings are slim.

  I won’t even form my mouth to tell a fib. I fucked Perry . . . once. He was my first. In fact, he was also a lot of my friends’ first. The older men around town call him Cherry Bomb because he has popped so many cherries that the number is rising on a daily basis. I was never sure whether Perry’s dick was good dick since I didn’t have anything to compare it to . . . until last summer.

  Even though I was scared to death, I ventured out with my best friend, Colby. She wanted to go apply for a job at a bar in Savannah, Georgia. She figured that waiting tables couldn’t be so hard and she does have a high school diploma. So we borrowed her dad’s 1993 Cutlass and made our way there.

  Compared to Coosawhatchie, Savannah seemed like Paris, France. At least how I had imagined Paris to be. People were walking around, laughing, shopping, hugging and kissing all over each other like it was Christmas in the summer. A cloud of sadness instantly fell over me. I realized that my life was at a standstill and millions and trillions of other people were making the most of theirs.

  We arrived at Bottlenecks, a small roadhouse on the outskirts of Savannah, about nine that night. Colby was dressed to impress, and to tantalize, in a pencil-cut black dress and four-inch heels. I didn’t even know where she had acquired the getup but she was looking hot. Me, not so hot. I had on some jeans and a faded T-shirt from the previous year’s Jasper County Fair.

  When we walked in, all eyes were on us; presumably because we were what city slickers call “fresh meat.” Colby sashayed over to the bar to ask for the owner, some dude named Melvin, while I surveyed the patrons. My heart started beating faster in my chest and I struggled to keep from hyperventilating. I had never seen so many fine men in one place in my life. Well, hell, I had never seen so many fine men even spread out in various places.

  I decided to go stand by a wall. I felt uncomfortable posing in the middle of the floor. No sooner had I picked a good, empty spot when a man in a navy blue suit approached me.

  “Hi, I’m Dean.”

  I was speechless. He was about six inches taller than me, a dark chocolate, with smooth skin and a low-top fade. But what drew me to him the most were his eyes. They were mesmerizing, like two black diamonds.

  “So, do you have a name?” he asked, losing his patience.

  “I’m Betsy.”

  I reached my hand out to shake his. I did have at least that much common sense. Even though I rarely got to greet someone whom I had never met in Coosawhatchie, I did have manners.

  Instead of shaking my hand, he brought it up to his soft lips and kissed it. My uterus damn near dropped clean out of me. I jerked away and he seemed offended.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to . . .” I paused, realized that I sounded plum foolish.

  “You’re not used to what? Men kissing your hand?” I dropped my eyes to the floor. “Or men period?”

  I didn’t respond and Dean chuckled.

  “It’s all good, Betsy. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “No, no thank you. I never drink.”

  “Maybe you need to live life on the edge a little, at least for tonight.”

  Live life on the edge! I had to admit to myself that I had thought about that a time or two in my life. After that night, whether Colby got hired or not, my tired, eighty-two-year-old–acting ass was headed back to sitting on the side of the riverbank watching people speed by on the highway.

  I glanced over toward the bar and Colby was talking to an older man who was presumably Melvin. Dean was staring at me with those diamonds and something awakened in me that I never realized was even there.

  “Dean, would you mind taking me someplace local and fucking me until I black out?” I slapped my hand over my mouth, wondering who the hell had just said that! “I mean . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Dean placed the tip of his index finger over my lips. “Your pleasure is my pleasure, Betsy.”

  Before I could respond, he was leading me out of the club and getting me situated in the passenger seat of a luxury automobile that I could not even recognize.

  You’re really tripping, I thought, as he walked around to the other side to get in. Get out! Get out now!

  • • •

  Needless to say, I didn’t get out but you knew that already. There would be no story to tell if I had gotten out. I just had to “live life on the edge.”

  We ended up at his place, a very nice cottage-style house on the water. His place was decorated like a model home. He was way out of my league, that was for sure. I live over the local feed store in a one-room flat.

  As soon as we were in the door good, Dean was all over me. When he gently slid his tongue in my mouth, I felt my pussy thumping. The difference between him and Perry a.k.a. Cherry Bomb was obvious from the very first second. He leaned into me and I felt his dick growing hard in his pants.

  Dean pulled my T-shirt up while we continued kissing and pulled my tits out of my bra so he could caress them. I started calling on Jesus that he would swallow them whole. I’m not sure if it is just me—my friends and I never discuss sex since most of us lost our virginity to the same man—but my breasts are my weakness. Whenever I masturbate, all I need to do is concentrate on them and I have orgasms that make my eyes roll back up into my head.

  Yep, he broke the kiss and started devouring my breasts. He sucked them so good and so hard that all I could do was hang on for the ride. I had never imagined a man so hungry, not even in my fantasies. We stood there in the doorway as I rubbed his head while he moved back and forth from tit to tit. It was amazing!

  I have no clue how much time elapsed but he must have sucked on me for at least fifteen minutes before he finally picked me up and carried me upstairs. I locked my legs around his back and started kissing him again. He moaned. I moaned. We moaned in unison and then I almost freaked when he lowered me down on the steps halfway up and started going at my breasts again.

  That did it. I exploded, right there in my jeans. He must have realized that I was experiencing aftershocks because he chuckled as he clamped down on my left nipple.

  “You like that, huh?” he asked.

  “Yes . . . I like that a lot,” I struggled to say with bated breath.

  Dean grabbed me by the back of my head and licked my chin in one long, slow stroke. “Then you’re really going to love what I do next.”

  “Oh, God!” I started shaking like a leaf. “You’re going to fuck me now, aren’t you?”

  Dean shook his head and grinned. “No, not yet. I skipped dinner. You’re not going to deny a hungry man, are you?”

  “Oh, shit!” I exclaimed. “You’re going to eat me!”

  Dean didn’t res
pond and I was too shocked to say anything else. Now Perry was known for a lot of things around Coosawhatchie but performing oral sex wasn’t one of them. In fact, most of the women in town wouldn’t perform oral sex on him, either. Unlike most situations where women have to wonder where else a man’s dick has been, we all saw each other on a damn near daily basis so there was no speculation there. Everyone made Perry use a condom and no one was trying to suck his dick . . . that I knew of. We did not discuss sex openly but that was common knowledge among the masses. Even the menfolk talked about that.

  Dean unzipped my jeans and pulled them down halfway over my hips. He stuck his face down there, moved my panties to the side and, before I could blink twice, he was licking and slurping down there to the point where I had to clamp my hand over my mouth again to keep myself from screaming.

  His tongue was warm, soft, and incredibly moving. He ate me like that for a few minutes and then pulled my right sandal off so that he could take my right leg out of my jeans and panties. Then he spread my legs open right there on the steps and really went to town on my pussy. I decided to let go, removed my hand, and screamed like there was no tomorrow.

  I watched his head bob and weave up, down, and all around between my legs. I decided to try to do more than just lie there—I’ve heard how men despise that—so I started moving my hips to his rhythm and even put my foot up on the stair railing to get more leverage.

  “Oh, yeah, you love this shit!” Dean said, obviously proud that he was turning my ass out. “You taste so damn good!”

  Dean removed my other sandal and got my bottom half completely naked, then shocked me again by telling me to turn over.